


Mile High Club

by Aviss



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A job like inception leaves a lot of energy to burn after waking up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mile High Club

**Mile High Club**

Arthur is the first one to open his eyes in the first class cabin.

For a split second he doesn't know where he is or what he's doing, and his heart pounds wildly against his ribcage, his breathing stuck in his throat. This happens every single time he goes under, especially if he's gone a couple of levels deep. His brain, confused between the switch in realities and time scales, takes a second to adjust and meld everything into one solid reality.

The adrenaline is still coursing through his body, and when he looks around he can only see Eames' eyes staring back at him. Cobb's are closed and so are Saito's. They missed the kick. Ariadne looks at him briefly before she focuses on Cobb again, her expression a mixture of hope and fear.

Arthur can't stay there, can't keep unmoving in his seat just waiting for Cobb to wake up, he has too much adrenaline still running through his system. He takes a deep breath and clenches his fist until his knuckles turn white, biting the inside of his cheek and finally, finally thinks _sod it!_ and looks at Eames again.

Eames is staring back at him, his eyes dark and intense and Arthur can tell the same restless energy has taken a hold of him even before he sees Eames' hands gripping the armrest hard enough to break it.

_Follow me_, he mouths, unfastening his belt and heading for the first class bathroom, not waiting for Eames to acknowledge him in any way.

It's not the first time they've done this after some stressful job, seeking each other the instant they are alone, itching to burn the remaining adrenaline after a chase, or a painful death in the dream.

The first time they got into a fistfight, it left them bruised and battered and spent enough that they could go home and try to relax.

They've learned since then there are more pleasant ways to achieve that state.

Eames enters the bathroom scant seconds after Arthur, a smirk plastered on his face. "Are we joining the Mile Hig--"

Arthur doesn't let him finish the sentence, yanking him inside and closing the door before his mouth if crushed against Eames', lips hot and hard and demanding. Eames opens his mouth and allows him to invade it with his tongue, stealing the breath from his lungs and devouring him. Eames tastes faintly of cigarettes and scotch, a stronger something that is fear and excitement and adrenaline and so distinctly Eames heady and intoxicating in Arthur's tongue.

They press against each other painfully, fingers following the defined muscles of arms and neck and torso, as if they were anchoring each other to reality. This is something neither of them has ever done in a dream, something reserved for the waking world.

Their own shared totem.

Eames pushes him away when air becomes a necessity, his hands hard against Arthur's shoulders. "Slow down, love," he says, his voice raspy from sleep and breathless from the kiss.

Arthur is having none of it, sinking gracefully to his knees in the small room and pressing his mouth against Eames groin, mouthing his erection through the cloth. Eames' tilts his head back, hitting it softly against the door, and moans low and deep. The sound sends a jolt through Arthur's spine, making his own cock throb in sympathy.

Eames' hands wind up in his hair, trying to pull away while Arthur moves his mouth over the bulge in his trousers, parting his lips to allow his tongue to press against it, his teeth to scrape against the cloth. Eames curses and his hands turn punishing against Arthur's scalp, fingers twisting a few strands.

It's not enough. Arthur rocks back slightly, hands deftly undoing Eames' belt and trousers, freeing his cock and swallowing it in a smooth movement that has Eames shaking violently against the door.

"Fuck!"

Arthur knows this is going to be really quick, both of them tightly strung from what could have been a disastrous job, the uncertainty of what they will find when they come back weighting on their minds. He moves his lips along Eames' cock, his tongue sealed to the underside while he sucks him, hands pinning his hips against the door.

He keeps that pace for a minute, taking Eames as deeps as he can, and moving slowly, ghosting his teeth over the sensitive flesh and twirling his tongue on the tip, teasing the slit before taking him deep again. He can tell Eames is close by the way his thighs tremble and the breathless quality of his moans, his hands pulling Arthur's hair painfully.

"Enough!" Eames grunts, pulling harshly and Arthur finally complies and releases him, standing up with the same graceful motion and claiming his lips again. The next second his back is hitting the door and Eames' hands fumble with his belt, undoing his trousers and freeing his aching cock.

Eames' hands are calloused and rough as they stroke Arthur with firm movements, his body pinning him against the flimsy barrier separating them from the rest of the world. He swallows Arthur's moans expertly, nipping as his lower lips and soothing the skin later with his tongue.

"Damn it, love," Eames rasps against his jaw, releasing his cock for an instant and ignoring Arthur's noise of protest. Then Eames' cock is sliding against his, the friction of skin against skin unbearably sweet and arousing, his hand encircling them both and bringing Arthur close, too close. "One of these days you have to let me properly fuck you in a bed."

It's those words combined with the feeling of Eames' stubble against his cheek, his breath on his ear, and his hand on his cock what gives Arthur the final push, and he's coming, a strangled noise falling from his lips as his head thuds harshly against the door. He can feel Eames' shaking against him, his own orgasm following Arthur's, and his head resting against his shoulder.

He thinks, while they put themselves to rights again, cleaning the stains as best they can, that Eames is right. They should do this properly in a bed, he's getting sick and tired of hurried blowjobs and clumsy handjobs in bathrooms, cars and alleys. It's not as if they have anything to hide, only that it has never occurred to Arthur to do this when they're not coming from an adrenaline high.

"You leave first," Arthur says, glad to hear his voice is back to normal, and there is no mistaking the disappointed expression flashing through Eames' eyes before he turns his back to him. He grabs him right before Eames can open the door, turning him around and stealing one last kiss. "You know where I'm staying, Mr. Eames."

It's hard to miss Eames smile as he leaves the bathroom, and Arthur takes a couple of minutes more to check his appearance and try to comb his hair to its previous state before going back to his seat. He doesn't meet Eames' eyes as he walks to his seat, looking instead at Robert Fisher staring pensively out of the window. Ariadne is still watching Cobb and as Arthur sits down he can see a relieved smile spreading through her features. He fastens his seatbelt and looks at Cobb, his opened eyes focusing on Saito, awake and staring back with the same intensity.

Arthur smiles, relief coursing through him. Everything has worked out in the end.

Now he can just relax and wait for Eames tonight.

…


End file.
